Bear His Burdens
by RhapsodyInProgress
Summary: I have seen Josh in pain, I have seen him grieve, I have seen him afraid, I have seen him angry, helpless, frustrated, confused. I have never seen him so utterly and completely lost. And I have never been so powerless to help him." J/D - sort of
1. Chapter I

Disclaimer: Unfortunately they aren't mine. Damn. They belong to Aaron Sorkin, NBC and some other people non of which are me.  
  
Notes: Yes, this is one big fandom cliché. Feel free to roll your eyes and smirk in a superior fashion. Reviews are most welcome, constructive criticism encouraged, flames ignored.  
  
I went from crutches to cane two months earlier than anyone thought I would. I did so without my doctor's permission or even his knowledge. As far as he knows I am being a good little girl and continuing to hobble about like the decrepit wonder I actually am. I have, in fact been walking relatively unassisted for the past three weeks. I'm not doing it for the sake of my vanity, nor am I doing it for fear of my crutches inadvertently tripping up some hapless White House official. I'm doing it for Josh. To stop him from looking at me like I'm a puppy he ran over with his car. I'm doing it to keep the guilt out of his face and eyes.  
  
Everyone else at work knows this. CJ threatened to kick Josh's ass for making me feel guilty about him feeling guilty. Toby told me that he would gladly even the score by breaking Josh's leg in three places and seeing if he can manage without crutches after less than six months. I understand their reactions but they can't change my mind. They don't know Josh like I know Josh. He blames himself for what happened. Of course he does. I know the pain he went through everyday of my recovery – I went through the same thing for him after all. I won't hurt him every time I limp into a room.  
  
To keep both sides happy, I have developed a routine: I only use the cane when Josh is not around to see. The crutches are reserved for use at home. I have also discovered an awkward but effective technique of getting out of my chair using only my left leg as well as standing close enough to Josh's desk that he can't tell I'm standing there one-footed. I have ways to get around using the bad leg. Damned if I'm going to let Josh see the pain I'm still in.  
  
Some days are bad. Some days we're so busy I don't get a second in which I can sit at my desk or perch on the edge of someone else's. Some days it hurts so badly that I can barely walk by the time I make it home.  
  
Josh doesn't know.  
  
I intend to keep it that way.  
  
Today, however, was a good day. Josh, miracle of miracles, left work before noon. His mother is driving up from Florida and he has to clean his apartment. Having seen his apartment, I can believe this. Josh leaving work early means that I am free to gimp about to my heart's content. It also means that I have significantly less work to do myself. Thus, for the first time in over two years, excluding, of course, last fall's shutdown, I have been home since three in the afternoon.  
  
I am now in the process of enjoying an evening of lounging on the couch drinking Diet Pepsi, eating Chinese take out and watching re-runs of "I Love Lucy". My apartment is quiet and I'm glad. Gillian, my roommate of four years moved out this time last fall to live with her boyfriend-turned- fiancé. Sometimes I miss the presence of another human being, filling the quiet with ceaseless chatter and too-loud country music. Now is not one of those times.  
  
The window is open but it offers little relief from the humidity of the evening. It is late October but we are enjoying an Indian summer. Looking out into the darkening street, I can see gauzy wisps of fog drifting lazily past the window. It's getting cooler outside, but the air is still damp. The fog will be hanging thick over the beltway by now. I'm glad I don't have to drive anywhere tonight. Turning back to the television, I stretch languidly, absently massaging the top of my right thigh, thumb tracing the scars that are only just starting to fade, livid against my pale skin.  
  
The night is sticky and uncomfortable. I consider abandoning "Lucy" for a glass of red wine and a bath. Before I can make up my mind, there's a knock at the door. Frowning at this unexpected interruption, I gather my crutches from where I have unceremoniously dumped them on the floor and struggle to my feet.  
  
I know it's not Josh, so I'm unconcerned with the amount of noise I make as I hop-thud to the door. I take twice the normal time to get there as I keep getting my crutches tangled in the furniture. The person on the other side of the can obviously hear me coming because they don't knock again. After what seems to be a embarrassingly long time but what is really only about thirty seconds I reach my destination and squint through the peephole. The person waiting patiently in the hall is immediately recognizable and my heart gives a small, strangled lurch in my chest.  
  
I don't like how unsteady my hands feel as I unlatch the sliding dead bolt and release the lock. Overcome with apprehension, I open the door.  
  
"Leo?" I say. It's a question, not a greeting. There are certain people whose uninvited presence in my doorway can only mean bad news.  
  
Leo McGarry is one of them.  
  
There is no pre-emptive greeting. No "hi Donna how're you doing?" to break the tension and assure me that nothing is wrong. Instead the first words out of Leo's mouth as he steps into the room are "Donna you might want to have a seat."  
  
My heart plummets to somewhere in the pit of my stomach. My hands go numb and my mouth goes dry.  
  
I guess the look on my face must really be something because the next thing he says is "Josh is fine."  
  
I make a funny little sound of relief that is a cross between a laugh and a sob but my hands are still numb. If Leo isn't here to tell me that Josh is hurt, or sick, or dead, then why is he here? There's a faint buzzing in my head that I think might be my brain trying to regain control of my body.  
  
Because I haven't said more then one word and because I haven't moved except to blink stupidly and gape at him, Leo takes me by the elbow and steers me in the direction of the couch, which is no easy feat considering I'm leaning almost my full weight onto my crutches.  
  
"Donna," he says once I am safely seated, "You gonna be ok?"  
  
"Yes," I reply, feeling my face grow warm and nodding harder than I have to, "you just... I wasn't expecting.... You surprised me is all." I want to yell at him for scaring me so badly and show him how my hands are shaking, but I can't. Especially since I can see in his eyes that, while Josh hasn't died, something still isn't right.  
  
Leo sits down on the love seat perpendicular to me, "yeah, I realized. Sorry." He apologizes. I wait for him to continue. "There was an accident." He says finally.  
  
And suddenly, in rush of understanding that hits me like a freight train, I know. I know what's wrong and I'm thinking it might be a good time to pass some law that says that no members of the Bartlet administration or their families should ever be allowed near cars because this is ridiculous and it doesn't sound like me who says "Oh Leo. No. Please no."  
  
I watch my boss's boss age twenty years as he nods slowly and draws in a weary breath. I swallow hard against the lump that has risen to the back of my throat and bite my lower lip until it hurts and tears sting my eyes. "She's all he has." I say softly realizing that I've used the wrong tense and choking audibly on the last word. "What happened?"  
  
"There was an accident." Leo repeats, "on the Washington beltway. Eight cars, four dead so far, including..." He stops, pressing middle and forefinger to his right temple as if warding against the headache that is threatening to manifest itself. "It was this damn fog. They didn't even see the others cars until they hit them."  
  
I close my eyes a moment. I can hear the roar of flames and the crunch and groan of twisting metal. I'm not sure if I'm imagining or remembering. "Does Josh know?" I ask without opening my eyes.  
  
"No. The hospital phoned the White House first. It's only seven thirty. Any other day Josh would still be there. I told them I'd tell him myself."  
  
I nod, "I want to come with you. I want to be there."  
  
The corners of Leo's mouth twitch into the ghost of something like a smile, "That's why I came here first."  
  
I'm dressed in the cotton shorts and T-shirt I sleep in on especially warm nights and I'm shivering, though not with cold, "I need to change,"  
  
Leo waits on the love seat until I emerge from the bedroom wearing the first clothes I could find. He goes to the door and holds it open for me, "Donna, you don't have your crutches," Leo says gently, as though I've forgotten them in my haste and shock.  
  
I shake my head, "I know," I say and follow Leo out of the apartment. 


	2. Chapter II

Disclaimer: They still aren't mine  
  
Author notes: Thank you to all the really nice people who have reviews this so far. Your thoughts are appreciated enormously. Here's part two, as promised. I have to admit to feeling a little guilty for putting poor Josh through this, but y'know. Hopefully the next chapter will be up soon. As always, reviews are welcome, constructive criticism encouraged and flames ignored. Enjoy!  
  
My mother, like me, has never been the most punctual person in the world. In fact, if she says that she will be somewhere at a specific time, you can safely bet on her being at least a half an hour later. What can I say? We Lymans have absolutely no internal clock. We learn to deal.  
  
For this reason, the fact that she has not arrived now, at a quarter to eight when Mom told me to expect her around seven does not alarm me. In fact, I would be far more alarmed if she had shown up on time.  
  
My apartment is spotless enough that even Donna would approve. I have rented some movies that we can mock and am now busying myself by making a pot of coffee. I have just finished locating the pink mug specifically reserved for when my mother visits when I hear someone at the door.  
  
Assuming that it's Mom once again trying to remember which key unlocks my door, I smirk a little when she can't find it and has to knock. I'm already forming a witty remark about how she's losing her memory in her old age (even though I'll have it known that Ellen Lyman is still sharp as a tack) as I saunter out of the kitchen to let her in.  
  
Deciding that I would feel rather foolish if I opened the door and found that it was not my mother, I take a quick look through the fish eye lens that lets me see into the hall. I am considerably surprised to see not the greying auburn head of my mom, but the distinctive golden blond that could only belong to my assistant. I'm a tad bemused by the sight of Donna hovering outside my door at this hour, but I don't mind. I know Mom would love to have Donna join us in a round of "mock the cheesy B movie," while alternately embarrassing me with stories of my dubiously eventful childhood.  
  
"Donna!" I exclaim, swinging open the door in an over extravagant gesture that makes her jump, "couldn't be away from me for one day could..." I stop abruptly as I realize that Donna is not alone.  
  
"Uh, hey Leo," I say feeling thoroughly bewildered. I can't help but stare at this incongruous pair, Donna dressed more casually than I've ever seen her in light blue sweat pants and a grey hooded sweatshirt, Leo dressed as always in an impeccably neat suit and tie. "D'you guys want to come in or something?" I add, hoping I sound less perplexed than I feel.  
  
I start to feel a little worried when neither of them move. I feel downright alarmed when the two of them look at each other then back at me as though they are about to tell me I have a terminal disease.  
  
"Christ, what the Hell's wrong?" I ask, frowning at them.  
  
Donna makes a strangled little squeaking noise and looks at Leo again as though asking for help. There is a funny look on her face that I'm sure I've seen before, though I can't place where. Leo finally takes a few steps into the apartment, Donna following close behind. I notice she's limping a little.  
  
"Do you want to sit down?" I nod in Donna's direction and gesture towards the sofa.  
  
Donna makes that peculiar squeaking noise again and says, "Josh, I..."  
  
"'Cause you're limping,"  
  
"Josh," she says again, throwing another distressed look at Leo. She's still got that look on her face and I know I could figure out why it's familiar to me if I had a moment to think about it.  
  
Before I can ponder the matter further, Leo says, "Son, have a seat,"  
  
I stare at him. This is not good. Leo does not call me "son" just because he's feeling randomly paternal and the tone of his voice tells me that he's not suggesting I sit out of concern for my comfort. I look back at Donna and suddenly I flash back seven years and I know where I've seen that face before.  
  
"Oh God," I say.  
  
Donna's eyes are wide, uncharacteristically solemn, glazed with tears. She has her teeth clenched in the effort to stay professional and matter-of-fact but her lower lip is trembling just slightly and the muscles in her neck and jaw are tense. The last time Donna looked like that was the night of the Illinois Primary. The last time Donna looked like that she was about to tell me that my father had died.  
  
"Josh," Leo says, "I'd really like you to sit down."  
  
"No," I shake my head, "No, tell me what's happened."  
  
Leo opens his mouth but for a moment is unable to say anything. He tries again, "Josh..."  
  
"Dammit Leo, tell me what's happened!"  
  
Leo closes his eyes in resignation and says, very gently, "There's been an accident."  
  
I hold up one hand as if that will stop the next words from coming, "Leo..."  
  
Leo plunges on regardless, his eyes never leaving my face, "It was foggy and no one could see what they were doing. It was over as soon as the first car hit its breaks. We just got the call at work."  
  
Now I do sit down, hard, and am saved from falling right to the floor by the arm of the couch though it is only by sheer luck that I manage to make contact with it. Donna takes an automatic step forward but stops before she reaches me, probably deterred by the fact that I am quite certain a look about five seconds way from vomiting.  
  
Leo pauses only briefly to ensure that I am not, in fact, going to be sick yet, "Josh, your mother... There was nothing she could have done, nothing anyone could do. She was gone by the time the emergency team got there."  
  
I'm on my feet again, in a convulsive movement that makes Donna jump back with a little yelp of alarm. I turn my back to both of them and stalk the length of the room, coming to an abrupt halt in front of the window. My head is quite literally ringing and I shake it hard as if to clear away the noise but that only makes things worse.  
  
I drag my hands through my hair. This can't be happening. This simply can not be happening. I have no control over my body. My hands are at my face, on my hips, in my hair. I won't accept this, this is not happening to me. Not again. Oh God, please not again.  
  
The roar in my ears is deafening and there are black spots in my vision. I'm deaf and blind and my family is dead.  
  
My sister, my father, my mother, all gone. Joanie, Dad, Mom, oh Mom, don't leave me here alone. What have I done to deserve this? Everyone I love, everyone important to me, gone. Why is knowing me a death sentence? Why do I lose everyone I care about to the flames?  
  
I feel a hand on my arm and I know it's Donna because only she can be so gentle but so firm at the same time. Her touch pulls me back to earth like a grounding wire and I finally turn to look at her. For a moment, it isn't Donna that I see, but a scorched and blackened strip of road in Gaza and an empty hospital bed with blood on the sheets.  
  
"Josh," Donna says raising one hand to tilt my face down so she can see my eyes, "Josh, look at me."  
  
I am looking at her, but I'm not really seeing her and Donna knows this. This is, of course, why Leo brought her along. Only Donna understands.  
  
I blink slowly as though I'm waking from a trance, which I guess I sort of am. The haze fogging my vision clears and I look at my assistant. There are tears on her face, but I don't think she notices. Her eyes meet mine, something like relief and something like anguish reflect in those blue depths.  
  
"Donna." I say because I can't say anything else.  
  
She nods, tightens her grip on my arm, "I'm here." 


	3. Chapter III

Disclaimer: Funnily enough, they continue to not belong to me. Well gee.  
  
Author's Notes: Yes! Finally it is here! Five false starts later, chapter three is finally complete! I have no idea why this chapter was so hard to write. I hope you all like it. It made me emotional. Also, thank you, thank you, thank you for all the nice comments that were left after chapter two. I thrive on feedback. Hopefully this chapter doesn't disappoint either. As per usual reviews are most welcome, constructive criticism encouraged, flames ignored.  
  
"Donna?"  
  
I am sitting at my desk with my head face down on my arms so that my response comes out something like; "Mmmphm?"  
  
I can practically hear CJ's worried frown, "Are you alright?" she asks coming to stand beside my chair.  
  
Turning my head towards her slightly so that my voice isn't so muffled when I say, "Sure." I don't really look at her when I speak because I know she knows I'm lying.  
  
It's been a week since that awful night in Josh's apartment. Five days since the funeral. I'm sure that the only person in the building who has had less sleep than me in that time is Josh. And that's saying something because I don't think I've slept more than six hours in the last three days. I can't eat, I can't even think half the time and if I have to go through another day of watching Josh wandering aimlessly through the halls like a wraith I'm going lose it. In short, I am not 'alright'. Not even close.  
  
And I won't be. Not until he is.  
  
CJ gives me a sad little half smile and sighs, "Okay." She hesitates a moment before saying, "How is he?"  
  
Very slowly I lift my head from my arms and stretch, carefully considering my reply. I open my mouth, shut it again. Finally I shake my head, "We're talking about Josh here CJ. How do you think he is?"  
  
CJ nods, "Yeah." She says sounding about as tired as I feel, "yeah." She looks absently around the bullpen then says, "look, Donna I hate to.... But I have this thing..."  
  
I wave her quiet. I wish people would stop doing this. Josh needs work right now. He needs normalcy. He needs to worry about education reform and tax cuts and drug control. Anything to get that horrible wounded look out of his eyes. He doesn't need people tiptoeing around him as though they're afraid he might suddenly shatter into a million pieces. "He's in his office," I say, gesturing vaguely at the closed door.  
  
"Right. Thanks." I watch CJ disappear into the office, then I sink back down onto my desk.  
  
For about the millionth time this week I have to suppress the urge to cry. What do I do? I mean, what the Hell do I do? I know Josh better than anyone else in my life. I understand him. I know I can't protect him completely but I've never failed to shield him just a little. Until now. I have seen Josh in pain, I have seen him grieve, I have seen him afraid, I have seen him angry, helpless, frustrated, confused. I have never seen him so utterly and completely lost. And I have never been so powerless to help him.  
  
Shifting position slightly, I bite back a yelp as a spasm of pain jolts through my right leg. Digging the heel of my hand into my thigh I hold my breath until the muscles relax and the pain abates. I have abandoned both crutches and cane in the past week. I've been spending so much time with Josh it's become impossible to use either walking aid without him noticing and I will not, _will not_ have him worrying about me. Josh is doing fine in the pain department without my stupid physical problems helping him along.  
  
The door to Josh's office opens, causing me to jump so violently I bump my knees against my desk and send a stack of files cascading to the floor. I stoop to pick them up as CJ emerges from the office with Josh following behind her.  
  
"Donna?" Josh calls. He doesn't have the energy to bellow for me like he usually does.  
  
"Down here." I'm on my hands and knees fishing stray pieces of paper out from beneath my desk when he comes around the corner. He looks at me blankly, "Hi," I say with a wry smile.  
  
I wait for the obligatory wisecrack but it doesn't come. Instead, Josh rubs the back of one hand across his eyes and says, "CJ and I have to go see Toby, could you hold my phone calls for the next little while?"  
  
I heave myself to my feet using the desk as leverage, "Ok, but Matt Skinner is coming to see you in half an hour remember?"  
  
"Yeah." He looks like Hell. His face is drawn and pale, practically grey with fatigue. There are lines around his mouth and eyes that I've never noticed before. The overhead lights throw the angles of his jaw and the shadows under his eyes into sharp relief, as though pain has embossed itself into his face.  
  
I pretend not to notice, "Have you had lunch?" I ask instead, "I was about to go to the mess." A lie. The rock in the pit of my stomach has replaced my need for food.  
  
"I'm not hungry."  
  
I purse my lips, "Whatever, but when you collapse from starvation in the middle of the Oval Office, don't come crying to me." Josh just stares. I try again. "I could get you a salad. You need greenery." It's like trying to banter with a brick wall and he knows it. Josh opens his mouth to make a retort but there's nothing there. "You're gonna get scurvy. Your teeth'll get loose and fall out of your head." I glance sidelong at him. " No girls will like you then." I get a tiny, tiny, ghost of a smile at that.  
  
"Donna, I have to..." Josh says, gesturing at CJ who is waiting a little ways off.  
  
"Yeah, ok. Did you know that in 1795, the British Royal Navy provided a daily ration of lime or lemon juice to all its men to prevent scurvy? That's why English sailors are called "limeys", 'cause that was the term for both lemons and limes back then."  
  
Josh shakes his head and sighs heavily, "I did not know that." He says obligingly.  
  
"Well, that's obviously why you keep me around." I say, with a smirk, "I'm getting you a salad."  
  
"Whatever." Josh says distractedly, turning to go. I watch him leave, clutching a sheaf of paper to my chest like a shield. As soon as he is out of sight, I collapse back in my chair with a noise that is half sob and half sigh.  
  
To be honest? I'm afraid he might suddenly shatter into a million pieces too.  
  
I just hide it better. 


	4. Capter IV

Disclaimer: Not for lack of trying, but they still aren't mine.  
  
Author's Notes: Fourth part is here!!! In less than two weeks!!! Well, that has to be some kind of miracle or something. Thanks again for all the nice reviews. I really do read every single one and I appreciate your support immensely! Hope you all like the next chapter.  
  
It's late.  
  
Sitting alone in my office, I can hear a vacuum cleaner whirring somewhere down the hall and I know without looking that most of my staff has gone home for the night. I should be getting ready to do the same. Should be, but I'm not. Instead, I have been sitting at my desk for the better part of an hour staring blankly at my computer screen and trying not to think.  
  
Someone knocks on the door, snapping me out of my stupor. Because it's bordering on midnight and because I know that I'm one of very few people still left in the building, I should be surprised, but I'm not.  
  
"Donna, why the Hell haven't you gone home?" I say, sounding more irritated than I actually mean to.  
  
My assistant raises one eyebrow incredulously and leans on the door jam, "Yes, because you're one to talk." She says. When I don't respond she shrugs, "I had stuff to finish up,"  
  
"What stuff?" I ask, "We finished everything over an hour ago."  
  
"Margaret took the day off to visit her sister and Leo asked me to pull some files for tomorrow morning." Donna says, taking a few steps into the room, "But yes, since you mention it, you and I have been done since ten thirty. Which leads me to wonder why _you're_ still here."  
  
She has me there. I begin to make a rebuttal but think better of it. Donna knows perfectly well that I have absolutely nothing to do, no pressing matters to attend to and if I try to make something up she'll see through me like I was made of water vapour. Better to just shrug noncommittally and shut up.  
  
Donna crosses her arms and looks me over. Her eyes come to rest on the cluttered mess that covers the surface of my desk and she chews her lower lip a moment before absently beginning to tidy things up. The salad she brought me at lunch is sitting untouched on top of a pile of folders and discarded paper. Picking up the plastic container, she waves it in my direction, "When did you eat last?"  
  
"Donna, look, could we not..."  
  
"Josh, I mean it." She says dropping the salad into the garbage bin with more force than is strictly necessary, "When did you eat last?"  
  
I make low noise of annoyance in the back of my throat, "I had a bagel."  
  
The eyebrows shoot up skeptically, "When? Three days ago?"  
  
"Donna..."  
  
"Josh." Donna does not look at me with that air of maddening pity that the rest of the White House staffers seem to have unanimously adopted. She is, in fact giving me a glare that would freeze brimstone. I say nothing. "Fine." She says, "forget it."  
  
It's hard to meet her eyes when she's looking at me like that, but I have to give her credit for not acting as though I'm made of glass. "Go home will you?" I say finally.  
  
Donna sighs, "You coming?"  
  
"In a minute."  
  
"I'll wait." Donna says resting her right hip on the top of the desk and re-folding her arms.  
  
I roll my eyes in aggravation, "No, Donna, no, just go home okay? I'll leave when I'm ready to leave. Would you please, for the love of God, _please_, stop badgering me?"  
  
Donna recoils a little at my tone and her stony visage cracks for a moment letting in an emotion that I can't quite place. "Sorry." She says softly. "I'm sorry. I'll go. See you tomorrow." She makes it to the door before turning around, "Josh..." she says, in an entirely different tone than she was using five minutes ago.  
  
"What?" I snap.  
  
She blinks at me and swallows visibly, "Never mind. Don't stay too late, kay?" With that she's gone shutting the door quietly behind her.  
  
I stare at the closed door for a minute or two before deciding that I am a flaming idiot. Of all the people in the world, the absolute last one I should be getting pissed with is Donna. Donna, who has been the single most dependable aspect of my life through all this, Donna who spent four days helping me call funeral guests, ordering flowers, making arrangements for the place and time, Donna, without whom I would not have survived this week. I make a mental note to apologize to her tomorrow.  
  
I sink as far down in my seat as I can go without falling to the floor and grind the heels of both hands into my eyes. I have to go home. I have to go home or Donna will kill me or I'll collapse and die from exhaustion and then Donna will kill me again.  
  
I have to but I can't.  
  
My apartment looks exactly the way it did last week, when I was still expecting my mother to show up at my door. Still spotless, everything in perfect, unnatural order. The spare bed is still set up, the fridge is still stocked with relatively healthy food, the Goddamn pink mug is still waiting patiently by Goddamn the coffee maker. I can't bring myself to put it away. I guess a part of me still believes Mom might appear at my door, that I might wake up tomorrow and discover that this was all a horrible dream and my mother is really here, safe in my apartment, puttering around my kitchen and yelling at me because my milk's gone sour and I don't have another carton.  
  
I want to be able to forget. Instead, everything around me is another painful reminder, a slap in the face and a taunting voice whispering "you're alone Josh, you've got nothing and no one left. Nothing and No one."  
  
At work it's easier to pretend, easier to cope, easier to forget. So I stay as long as I can. Two days ago, I was home for a total of three hours – long enough to change my clothes and have a shower. Last night, I didn't go home at all. I had a spare shirt and tie hanging in my office to be used incase of emergency, so no one had any idea.  
  
It sounds ridiculous, but I sleep better here. You can't quite call lying with your head on your desk sleeping, more of a doze really, so I don't dream. I'm not asleep enough to dream. That works for me. At home, I dream. At home I close my eyes and there are flames, and screams, and sometimes the crunch of metal on pavement and something the frantic beeping of a fire alarm and sometimes the wail of sirens and I don't know which of my women I'm watching die tonight but I'm powerless to stop it.  
  
So I don't go home.  
  
I get up from my chair and stretch my arms above my head, feeling my vertebrae pop. I'll go tonight. I'll go because I told Donna I would and it's getting harder to lie to her. I'll shower, change, have a bagel and cream cheese and maybe even have a nap on the couch. Maybe.  
  
I stalk the length of the office to where my coat is hanging up behind the door. I start to put it on and stop, one arm in and one out. I look around my office, eyes coming to rest on the cluttered desk that Donna has half-heartedly begun to arrange. I should organize it for her. I'll do that now and then I'll go home. I really, really will.  
  
Just not yet. 


	5. Chapter V

Disclaimer: See previous  
  
Author's Notes: And the extreme angst goes marching on! Trust me, it only gets worse from here which I know, for some of you, is very disturbing thought. I feel that it is now my duty to apologize for the long gaps between updates. I'm psycho busy right now and squeaking writing sessions in between shifts at work is hard. However, I will try very hard to get the next chapter up in the next week. I really, really will. Continued thanks to everyone who reads and reviews. Feedback is like oxygen. Or something. And, to JustDuck, whose review had me giggling through half of this chapter, don't worry. Josh knows better than to angst and drive.  
  
I hit the stop button on my alarm clock with enough force to send it flying from my bedside table, still twittering like an overzealous songbird. It hits the ground with a crunch that causes the batteries to pop out and go skittering under my bed.  
  
I let out a string of curses that would make my dear sweet grandmother do back flips in her grave and sit up and swat blindly at the lamp beside my bed. Finally succeeding in locating the pull chain that turns on the light, I blink groggily and attempt to extricate myself from the tangled mess of my bed sheets.  
  
I suppose that, in the scheme of things, I didn't have a bad sleep. This is probably thanks to the three Gravol tablets I took before going to bed. Of course, if the state of my bedclothes is anything to go by, I didn't have what you'd call the most restful night in the world. I must have been dreaming. Luckily I can't remember what I was dreaming about.  
  
Still stiff and sore from sleeping, I half hop, half fall to my closet where I drag out the first sweater and skirt that look like they might make a presentable outfit, than half hop, half fall to the bathroom to have a shower.  
  
By the time I emerge, hair dried, make up applied, clothes on, I look and feel considerably more human. Crutches tucked securely under each arm, I hobble my way to the kitchen to force feed myself. It is only after mechanically consuming an English muffin and orange juice that I realize I was actually hungry.  
  
I decide that today is going to be a good day. I am going to be cheerful. I am going to act like things are completely back to normal and I am going to snap Josh out of his funk if it's the last thing I do.  
  
I get to work early as always. Charlie, one of the few people who regularly beat me here, is passing through the metal detectors ahead of me.  
  
"Hey Donna," Charlie says as I step through the security devices, "How're you doing?"  
  
"I'm doing okay Charlie," I say, surprised at the buoyancy in my voice, "Thanks."  
  
"That's good. You didn't look so great yesterday."  
  
I shrug, "It's been a long week. But I slept well last night."  
  
We part ways and I head for Josh's bullpen, consciously reducing my limp as I approach my desk. There is no sign of Josh. I wonder how long he hung around after I left last night. I hope he got a decent sleep.  
  
Humming tunelessly to myself, I gather up the files that Josh will need for today's meetings and head for Josh's office. Awkwardly adjusting the pile in my arms, I turn the knob and bump open the door with my hip. The office is dark and filled with the warm, comfortable scent of photocopy paper and Josh's cologne. Using one elbow, I flick on the light switch.  
  
"Oh hell, what time is it?"  
  
I'm so startled I actually scream and send paper and folders flying in all directions, "Josh?!?" I squawk, "What the Hell?"  
  
Josh rubs his face with both hands and peers blearily at me from across the room. Yesterday I thought Josh looked about as bad as he could get. I was wrong. The person sitting behind the desk is hardly recognizable as my boss. That tired, worn, utterly wasted husk of a human being cannot, cannot be Josh Lyman. For the first time in almost seven years I have absolutely no idea what to say to him. None.  
  
Josh isn't doing much better in the speech department. We stare at each other. Finally, his mouth twitches into a ghastly imitation of his usually brilliant smile and he says, "Good morning Donna."  
  
When my voice comes back it registers about four times higher than its normal octave, "Did you sleep here?" I demand.  
  
Josh winces and rubs his temples, "Donna could you, y'know, maybe bring the volume..."  
  
"Did you sleep here?" I repeat even louder.  
  
"It's, uh... It's possible I may have fallen asleep at my desk, yes." Josh says, absently raking a hand through his already tousled hair.  
  
"Oh my God." I say, more to myself than to him. I shouldn't have left him here last night. I should have personally dragged his ass into a cab and followed him home. I should have forced him into bed and sat on his couch all night to make sure he stayed there. I. Should. Not. Have. Left. Him.  
  
"Donna, it's not a big deal," Josh is saying, "It's not like I haven't spent the night here before. Don't start a thing..."  
  
Oh God, where have I heard that before?  
  
"Josh," I begin but I don't finish the thought. There is no way to voice what is going through my head at that moment. He looks like he's dying. He looks like a strong enough wind could tear him apart and scatter him like dust. I suddenly have the terrible conviction that somehow, somehow I am going to lose him and I can't, I can't let that happen but Oh God, how do I help him?  
  
"Donna?" Josh says coming out from behind the desk. The concern in his voice and face is obvious and I can't believe that he is worried about me, "You okay?"  
  
Suddenly I can't bear to be in that room anymore, "You...you have senior staff in twenty minutes," I say trying hastily to organize the mess I made of the files, "and you're meeting with Senator Cameron after that... in the, uh... in the Mural Room."  
  
Josh nods, "Yeah okay," He pauses, "Hey, are you sure you're alright? You look kind of... I dunno...not good."  
  
I give such a vigorous nod that some of my hair comes lose from the clip holding it back. I swipe the wayward strands out of my eyes, "No, no, no, I'm... I'm fine," I stammer, "Senior Staff in twenty." I repeat, thrusting the files into his hands.  
  
I leave the room at the pace just below a jog. I don't stop at my desk. I don't stop when CJ, who is has just arrived at her office, bids me good morning. I keep walking until I find an empty room that I think might actually be a broom closet, and duck inside.  
  
I close my eyes and take a long, deep breath. "Get a grip," I say to myself through clenched teeth, "Get a bloody grip,"  
  
There is a strange sort of slide show flashing behind my closed eyelids. Christmas lights and Josh yelling about sirens or bagpipes or both, Josh sitting at his desk re-bandaging a bleeding hand "Donna, it's not a big deal, I broke a glass, don't start a thing..."  
  
Me at the hospital, waiting while a doctor digs splinters of glass out of my boss's hand.... "Leo, I think something's wrong with Josh,"  
  
It seems like eons ago, but I remember it now as if it were yesterday. I had known then. I had known that something was horribly, horribly wrong and I'd still left him on his own. That time, he'd put his hand through a window. This time, what if this time...  
  
"No," My own voice startles me, "not again." It won't happen again. I won't permit it.  
  
I take another deep breath, hold it a moment, and let it out. Stepping back into the hallway, I smooth my skirt and head back in the direction of Josh's bullpen.  
  
So much for having a good day.

* * *

Much, much later I am sitting at my desk doodling all over a pad of yellow Post-It notes. According to the clock on the wall to my right, it is three in the morning. I should probably be thinking of ways to explain to Josh how it is that I've managed to finish all of tomorrow's work when, technically, I'm supposed to be at home in bed right now.  
  
Josh let me go at eleven. Obviously I did not leave.  
  
This is what I am calling Project Keep Josh from Doing Something Stupid. It basically consists of me sitting here staring at Josh's closed office door until he A) Goes home or B) Falls asleep. There are some obvious flaws in my plan. First of all, when and if Josh ever leaves the building I will no longer be able to monitor him. However, I have a hunch that Josh isn't so keen on spending any length of time in his apartment so I'm not worried. Secondly, as I have not developed x-ray vision in the last twenty-four hours, I am unable to see through Josh's closed door to determine if he's fallen asleep yet.  
  
I'll give him until four-thirty. If he's not sleeping by then I will be and that will solve the problem quite nicely.  
  
I let my head fall to my desk with a thump. This is stupid. I know that. I know that sleep depriving myself to kinda/sorta keep tabs on my emotionally unstable boss is high on the list of idiotic things I've done in my life. And that's saying something.  
  
But I have to do something.  
  
I have to.  
  
The quiet rasp of a doorknob being turned is the only thing that alerts me that Josh is on the move. Part of Project Keep Josh from Doing Something Stupid is ensuring that Josh doesn't find out what I'm doing. If he does, he will probably kill me with his stapler or, at the very least, have me deported to Burma. Thus, I dive ungracefully under my desk feeling about as stupid as I'm sure I look.  
  
I am Donna Moss, agent of Stealth and Intrigue. Fear me.  
  
Peeking out from my hiding place, I watch as Josh retreats down the hall. He's wearing his coat and has his backpack slung over one shoulder so I know he's heading home, not just going for a late night promenade. He walks very, very slowly with his shoulders stooped. It's like his very soul is weighing him down.  
  
After I moment, I get to my feet, remove my own coat from where I stashed it in one of my desk drawers and call a cab. In my experience, driving and extreme sleep deprivation don't mix.  
  
Tomorrow I will talk to Leo. Tomorrow I will talk to Leo and I will talk to CJ and Toby and everyone else who will listen and then I will sit at my desk until four in the morning because I am Josh's aide, and that's what I do. I help Josh.  
  
But now, now I will go home to bed where my dreams will be haunted by my best friend's grief-clouded eyes and stricken face. 


	6. Chapter VI

Disclaimer: I give up, they're mine, I keep them hidden under my bed. Really, I do.  
  
Author's Notes: Part six!!! Go me!!! This chapter was hard to write for some reason, hence the gap between updates. I'm on holidays for a week starting tomorrow, so the seventh chapter won't be up for at least a week and a half. But trust me, once Chp. 7 gets up there's no turning back. The angst train has left the station. All-aboard, WOO WOO! Anyhow, hope that this chapter doesn't disappoint. To Duck, who again had me giggling like mad when I read her review, I hope you sustain no injuries while reading this chapter, and to Nonnie, thanks for commenting so regularly on this story. Everyone else who keeps coming back to read or drop a kind word, it means sooo much! Feedback is like good chocolate on a bad day. No, I don't know what I'm talking about either.  
  
I don't really know how it's possible that I'm feeling worse than I did four days ago, but I am. After the minor fiasco of Donna finding me asleep in my office I've behaved myself somewhat and gone home for a few hours every night for the last few days. However, despite the fact that I am showered and wearing fresh clothes (which I won't be for long if I don't do something about my laundry), despite the fact that I have been _trying_ to eat a little each morning, I still feel like something scraped off the bottom of an old shoe.  
  
It just seems as though everything is too much effort. I hardly have the energy to pick up my feet as I shuffle into work for another day of pure hell. I keep telling myself that things will get better. One day I will wake up (provided I actually regain the ability to sleep) and that horrible leaden feeling will be gone and I won't feel as though there is a steadily growing hole under my feet waiting to swallow me up. I just don't know when that day will be.  
  
Donna is, predictably, sitting at her desk when I drag myself into the bullpen. She spends a lot more time sitting lately. I know her leg is bothering her still. I wonder why her doctor took her off the crutches so soon.  
  
"'Morning." She says getting to her feet as I pass. Her voice is it's usual cheerful self, but her face makes me do what I'm sure is a very noticeable double take.  
  
"Wow, Don you look like Hell." I say looking her up and down. It's true. Short of that one time where she got herself blown up, I've never seen her look quite this bad. If her face gets any paler she'll be see through, and there are circles under her eyes that make it look as though she hasn't slept in weeks.  
  
"Boy Josh, you really know how to sweep a girl off her feet." Donna says dryly.  
  
"I'm not kidding." I reply as she follows me into my office, "Are you sick or something?"  
  
"I'm fine." Donna shrugs and fidgets with her hair, "I just didn't sleep well last night."  
  
"Yeah? Why not?"  
  
Donna stares at me as though she'd like to strangle me with my neck- tie, turns an interesting shade of pinkish purple and says, "I dunno. Just didn't."  
  
"Okay." I say, trying not to let my concern show, "I'll try to let you off early tonight so you can get some sleep."  
  
Donna makes a very strange noise that sounds as though she's trying not to swallow her tongue, "That'd be nice." She squeaks in an oddly strained voice. I raise one eyebrow and her face darkens from pink/purple to scarlet, "Um....right...you have, uh, uh..."  
  
"Senior staff?" I prompt wondering what in Hell is going on. Donna has been acting very strange for the last four days. I get the feeling she's hiding something from me and I hope to God she hasn't gone off and done something stupid and guy-related again because really. That's all I'd need.  
  
"Yes, that," Donna nods, "Then you're supposed to meet with some guys from the Surgeon General's office and after that, Leo wants to see you."

"Yeah, good. Thanks." I say as she turns to go, "Donna?"  
  
She stops and looks back over her shoulder, "Yeah?"  
  
I look at her a moment, trying to read the expression on her exhaustion-marked face, "Everything's okay? You're not... y'know... You're alright?"  
  
Donna smiles and looks for a minute like she's about to burst into tears, "I'm fine Josh, don't worry about me." She hesitates then asks, "How 'bout you?"  
  
I shrug, "I – I'm okay. I'm, you know, I'm feeling better. "I wave one hand vaguely as if trying to brush away the lie before she notices.  
  
Donna nods, smiles that sad little smile again and leaves the room. I watch her go, then finish hanging up my coat and backpack before heading to Staff.  
  
Eventually, I know I'm going to have to stop lying to her.

* * *

When I get to Leo's office a few hours later, I am surprised to find a healthy portion of the West Wing staff already there. Despite the fact that I could hear about four voices speaking at once as I came down the hall, everyone immediately falls silent as I enter the room.  
  
"Wow." I say, "So this is where the party is, I..." I stop as I take in the fact that all seven people are looking at me with identical wide- eyed expressions that make them look as if I just drove an eighteen-wheel tractor trailer into the office. I half-smile, feeling thoroughly nonplussed, "Jeez, were you guys talking about me or something?" I say, only half- joking.  
  
Donna makes the sort of sound I would imagine a person trying to swallow a live turtle would make and CJ and Charlie exchange a cryptic glance that is impossible to read. Toby, however, doesn't look ruffled in the least and says, "Yes Josh because it's not entirely possible that we might have better things to do than talk about you."  
  
"Okay." I say, feeling stupid, "What's going on then?"  
  
"Well, Toby, CJ and Will are here for the same meeting you are, Donna was bringing over some stuff I asked for, Charlie came by with a message and Margaret's my assistant." Leo says, peering moodily at me from over the rims of his reading glasses, "Nothing that usually indicates a secret White House conspiracy."  
  
Donna, who still looks like she'd like nothing more than to jump out the window and run wildly away from the building, politely excuses herself and darts out of the room like a startled deer.  
"Has anybody else noticed her acting a little... I dunno... weird?" I ask jerking a thumb in the direction my assistant just left from.  
  
"No." The six remaining people in the room chorus in almost perfect unison.  
  
"Ok-a-a-y." I pause. "You're sure? 'Cause I don't think she's been sleeping so well and she keeps blushing and making funny choking noises and... None of you have any idea what I'm talking about do you?"  
  
"Really between the two of you we have enough to fill the worry quotient around here for the next two years." Leo says cryptically, "Could we move on?"  
  
"Please, let's." Toby says.

* * *

The clock on my wall now reads 4:00am and I figure I really ought to be going home. It's not any easier being there. I still keep expecting to wake up from this nightmare. Anytime. Please.  
  
But I know it's not a dream. My mother really is dead, just like everyone else really is dead. To say that I feel alone wouldn't be entirely true. Instead I feel like everywhere I go there's a little entourage of ghosts following close behind darting in and out of my peripheral vision. I'm being haunted by my dead family and maybe other things as well, though I can't quite put a name to those shapeless specters.  
  
As I grudgingly put on my coat and turn off the light, I find myself thinking of Donna and wondering what she'd say if she knew what lousy shape I was actually in. She'd want me to talk to someone I guess. Maybe she'd want me to talk to her. I couldn't do that. I couldn't put her through another night of trying to keep me from falling apart. Not after everything she's been through. Not after everything I've done to her.  
  
I'm glad that, for once, I was able to keep my promise and send her home at eight thirty. Hopefully she'll get a good night's sleep and won't look like the walking dead tomorrow. I smile a little as I imagine Donna sleeping soundly in her bed, dreaming whatever it is that someone like her dreams.  
  
That image is still with me as I shut my office door and start to head out.  
  
So imagine my surprise when I find Donna asleep at her desk.  
  
For a moment I just stare, feeling confused. Then, I understand and am hit by such a startling combination of emotions that for the space of almost a minute I can barely see straight. I feel guilt and anger and sadness and maybe something a little bit like love, but unfortunately for Donna, it's the anger that overrides everything else (or is that guilt?) as I march up to the desk. 

"Donna." I say loudly.  
  
My assistant snaps into wakefulness so violently that she almost topples out of her seat. "Josh!" she yelps, flying to her feet in such an ungraceful fashion that I'd laugh if I wasn't so pissed off. "Oh God. I..."  
  
"What the Hell are you doing?" I demand not bothering to keep my voice down, hardly noticing the way my words echo off the walls, hardly noticing anything over the rush of blood in my ears.  
  
"I...I...." Donna stammers, taking a few steps back as though afraid I might hit her. Somehow this makes things worse because she has to know, _has to know_, that I would never intentionally hurt her. Not ever.  
  
"Is it at all possible," I say slowly, carefully measuring my words, "that the reason you didn't sleep well last night is because you were _here_?" She says nothing, just drops her gaze to the floor. "Look at me. Tell me the truth. Dammit Donna, Look at me!"  
  
"Yes." Donna says in a barely audible voice. Her eyes meet mine and I can see them shining with tears.  
  
"And the night before that?" She nods her eyes still fixed on my face. She's gripping the back of her chair so hard her knuckles are white. "You've been here every night since Tuesday, haven't you?"  
  
"Yes." She says again, little stronger this time.  
  
"Okay." I say, pressing my mouth into a thin line. "Okay, I'm not dealing with this right now."  
  
Donna blinks rapidly against the tears that are threatening to spill over, "Josh, I..."  
  
"Go home Donna." I cut her off, speaking through clenched teeth.  
  
"But, I..."  
  
"I mean it Donna, right now, go home."  
  
Donna nods, "Okay." She says meekly. I spin on my heel and turn away from her, unable to look at the distress radiating from every line of her body, unable to see the naked look of fierce protectiveness in her eyes.  
  
As I storm away, I realize that, despite my best intentions, I've managed to hurt her again anyway.


	7. Chapter VII

Disclaimer: Despite my very best efforts, they continue to not be mine.

Author's Notes: Holy Hell. I am honestly sorry about how long this has taken to get posted. My internet went AWOL on me so I've not been able to post anything. Figures. Anyhow, this a funny (funny strange, not funny ha-ha.) little chapter that I felt was necessary to highlight the sub-story going on here: the relationship (friendship or otherwise) between Josh and Donna. Because that's really what this things all about when it comes right down to it. At any rate, I have chapter eight done and chapter nine is making good progress so I may just wrap this baby up within the next week. Keep watching for updates. Now, without further ado, let go on to chapter seven! Enjoy!

* * *

Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh _God_.

I have decided that what I have to do from now on is stop assuming that things can't get any worse, because I almost always assume wrong.

I think recent events have illustrated that point quite nicely.

On my disturbingly long list of monumental screw-ups, last night just managed to earn itself a place in the top ten. That's right up there with the Diary Incident, Jack Reese and everything and anything related to Dr. Freeride. Thinking about it now, almost all of my Top Ten ended with Josh getting seriously pissed with me.

Which is why I am currently hiding in CJ's office and talking to Gail the 3rd.

"Gail," I say crouching down in front of the fishbowl, "I am looking forward to today about as much as I'd be looking forward to being thrown off of the Washington Monument. In fact, I think I'd _rather_ be thrown off of the Washington Monument. At least that would put me out of my..."

"Donna, what the Hell?"

I stand up too fast and knock the desk so that Gail's bowl wobbles alarmingly before I'm able to steady it. Please, let's not make a bad day worse by killing the Press Secretary's goldfish.

"Hey CJ," I say, trying unsuccessfully to look dignified.

CJ raises her eyebrows at me, "Were you talking to my fish?"

"Um... Yes." I say, tugging uncomfortably at the hem of my suit jacket.

"Okay." CJ says giving me a bemused half smile, "Can I ask why?"

"CJ, I will never be a secret agent." I reply

CJ reacts to this non sequitur by looking at me as though I've completely lost my mind. "You...Donna, what on Earth?"

I walk past her and peek warily into the hall before shutting the door. Turning back to CJ, who looks understandably baffled I say, "Josh caught me."

This, CJ understands perfectly. Her eyes widen noticeably. "Oh my God, Donna, what happened?"

I shrug slightly and make a sheepish fluttering gesture with one hand, "I fell asleep."

CJ sighs enormously and leans against her desk, "Of course you did." She says, pressing the fingers of her right hand against her forehead, "What did he do?"

"Do you even have to ask?" I say.

"He's angry?" CJ asks although I'm sure she doesn't actually have to hear the answer.

I sigh and chew my lower lip, "To put it mildly."

CJ crosses her arms and gracefully arches one eyebrow, "Is he angry in an "oh my God I'm putting my assistant and closest friend through Hell and feeling damn guilty about it" way?"

It's my turn to raise an eyebrow. I'd never thought of it like that. Even so, replaying last night's events I have to answer, "I think he's just angry in an angry way."

CJ rolls her eyes in disgust, "You know what? I think you need to pencil me in some time with your boss."

I tilt my head to one side, "Okay, um... why?"

"Because I am going to kill him."

I shake my head vigorously, "No, CJ...."

"Donna, he's being a jack ass!"

"No, no CJ, he's not!" I protest, "He's under a lot of stress..."

"I don't give a dead rat's ass how much stress he's under!" CJ exclaims looking like she'd like to kill _me_.

I plunge on, ignoring the dangerous glint in CJ's eyes, the one that has made men three times my size want to run crying to their mothers, "You know how he hates to feel like we're coddling him."

"Dammit Donna!" CJ explodes, banging one hand on her desk for emphasis, "Stop defending him! He has no right to be angry with you and you bloody well know it! After everything you've done for him. Look at yourself! You look like the walking dead, how the hell can he even dare to be mad at you?"

The bad part is, I know she's right. I know she's right but I can't bring myself to admit it. "He was already suspicious after he walked in on all of us in Leo's office. He'd been stewing over that all day and..."

"For the love of God," CJ growls, "Donna, we weren't even talking about him. We were talking about you and your lunatic routine of self imposed vigilantism."

"Well I know that and you know that, but as far as Josh is concerned we were discussing him behind his back and it bothered him to think..."

"I don't understand how you put up with it Donna, I really don't." CJ says sinking down in her chair. "Anyone else would be out the door so fast..."

"I'm not leaving." I say sharply. "We've discussed this already."

CJ looks at me, an unreadable play of emotions in her face, "We have, yes." She says.

I can hear the unasked question in her voice: Why do you stay? I still don't understand. Why don't you leave? "You didn't see him with me after Gaza." I say softly.

CJ inclines her head to one side in a strangely bird-like fashion, "Sorry?"

"You weren't there and you didn't see so you don't understand." I say. "He _needs_ me CJ."

CJ's face softens and she sighs, "It's true, he does. So one would think he'd show it a little better."

I nod, "Yes. I know. But that doesn't change the fact. I'm not going to leave him, I won't, CJ, I _won't_."

I stand to leave. It's getting late, Josh will be here by now and the last thing I need is to give him another reason to be pissed at me. At some point today, we'll have to talk, Josh and I. I have to explain to him why I did what I did.

Before I get all the way out the door, CJ calls my name, "Donna?" I turn around, "You won't leave, or you can't?"

I close my eyes briefly and swallow hard, "I little bit of both."

* * *

I had, of course, expected the day to be bad. I hadn't expected it to be nearly unbearable. Josh seemed to be going out of his way to be as surly and snappish with me as humanly possible. I did my best to ignore it, to just ride out the storm with the hope that by lunch, Josh would have forgotten all about being pissed off at me.

As usual, I was wrong.

Lunchtime has come and gone and I once again find myself standing in Josh's office feeling like a beaten - down dog with its tail between its legs. I'm beginning to get annoyed with the whole situation. Very annoyed.

"Governor Jacobs cancelled her meeting." I say to Josh's back. He is currently rummaging around in his filing cabinet and doing his best not to look at me. "Family emergency. She wants to reschedule for sometime next week. I told her I'd call her office with a time that's good for you."

Josh finds what he's looking for and returns to his desk without responding. I purse my lips and bite back the angry expletive that springs to the front of my mind. CJ's voice is somewhere in the back of my head telling me that no one in their right mind would put up with this. No one.

"Josh?" I say, "Did you hear what I...?"

"Yes Donna, I heard you." Josh snaps. "You are after all, standing three feet away."

"Well," I snap back, "It's hard to tell when you're acting like a spoiled three-year-old."

Josh looks at me and for a moment, that infuriatingly cold look he's been giving me all morning falters and I see a flash of – what? Guilt?

I take a deep breath, deciding to take advantage of the fact that he's briefly let his guard down. "Josh, look. We need to talk."

Immediately his face closes off again and I know I've somehow managed to make things worse, "Oh yes Donna, let's talk. Because there's absolutely nothing I'd rather be doing right now than listening to how fragile I am."

He gets up from his chair and storms past me. I watch him leave, teeth clenched so hard my jaw hurts.

Okay.

Okay, now I'm way past annoyed.

Now I'm just pissed.


	8. Chapter VIII

Disclaimer: Aren't mine, wish they were. You know the drill.

Author's Notes: Mark the date one the calendar folks: Two updates in less than twenty-four hours! I know, I'm just as astounded as you are. Enter Chapter the eighth in which the angst quota rockets to previously unmeasured levels and leaves us scrambling to keep up. Fun for all. As I was putting the final spit polish on this chapter, "Ave Maria" came on my random playlist shuffle and I almost had a coronary. Life mimicking art and all that. Anyhoo, read the chapter, leave a review and win my undying love and gratitude. (edit: for some reason doesn't seem to want to let me indent my paragraphs. Go figure.)

* * *

I am getting a very good idea of how someone standing on the highest point of a steep hill feels right before the rockslide starts. Shifting ground, the feeling of the earth rolling under your feet and the knowledge that you're going to fall and fall only to be buried by all the shit that's falling after you. My life seems to have veered completely out of control in the space of two weeks.

The look on my face must be positively terror inducing as I leave the bullpen and storm into the hall. People are literally leaping out of my path as I pass by. Parting the Red freaking Seas, that's me, I think with a black humour as I make an aimless corner, not knowing or caring where I'm headed.

Donna's following me. I know because she's wearing heels and her gait has taken on a peculiar uneven sound quality since her accident and I can now hear her click-thumping towards me at an alarmingly high speed.

"Josh." She calls, closing the gap. Her voice has an uncharacteristic edge to it, as though it's been laced with steel. The effect is like having knives whizzing past my head as I walk. "Josh, for God's sake, turn around and look at me."

I halt mid-stride and whirl around to glare at my assistant. She is giving me a look that I'm pretty sure could cause something or someone to spontaneously combust if she tried hard enough, "I have somewhere to be Donna." I growl.

"No you do not." Donna says incredulously, crossing her arms.

"Oh yeah? How do you know that?"

"Because I'm your assistant you idiot," She spits, "When have I ever not known your schedule inside and out?"

She has a point.

"We're going to talk Josh, because this is, quite frankly, starting to get on my nerves."

"Fine," I take her by the arm and pull her into the nearest room, which is, thankfully, unoccupied, "Fine, let's talk Donna. Let's share our emotions like good well-balanced boys and girls shall we?"

Donna looks positively disgusted with me, "Oh please, grow up." She practically snarls. I have very rarely, maybe never, seen Donna Moss so angry and I'm still enough in my right mind to be unnerved by it.

I decide that now would be a good time to change tack, "What the hell did you think you were doing Donna?" I demand.

If I was looking to catch her off guard I fail miserably because Donna's facial expression shifts immediately from disgust to disbelief. "What was I doing?" She repeats, her voice getting oddly high on the last syllable. "Worrying myself sick over you, that's what."

I roll my eyes, ignoring the sharp pang that shoots through me at her response, "Yeah," I hiss, practically spitting out the words, "and part of that obviously included telling the entire White House staff that I'm some sort of emotionally unstable head case!"

Donna, whose furious face I'm sure matches my own, gives a tiny, bemused laugh and says, "Well going on past experience Josh, I wasn't that far off."

For a moment I'm so angry I'm unable to string enough words together to form a coherent sentence. I spin on my heel take several steps away from her, one hand on my hip, the other pulling at my hair. "What the hell did you think I was going to do?" I demand, whirling back on her suddenly enough that she jumps. "String myself up by my necktie in the middle of the bullpen? Throw myself in front of the motorcade?"

I've maybe gone a little too far with that one because Donna flinches away from me and goes slightly pale, "Josh..." she says softly, looking a little sick to her stomach.

I take a deep breath and try to calm down before someone in the hall hears the noise and thinks someone's being murdered. "In what part of your mind." I say, disliking the tight, strained quality of my voice, "did you think that finding out that my co-workers are holding secret meetings about me would help?"

It takes Donna a minute to realize what I'm referring to and when she does, she rolls her eyes and makes a low growling noise in the back of her throat, "It wasn't a secret meeting Josh." She says sounding thoroughly exasperated. "It was exactly what Leo said. We all just ended up in the room at the same time. Then Will asked me how you were doing and I told them that I'd been to staying late nights to..." She stops here and takes a moment to collect herself, tucking her hair behind her ears and looking embarrassed. "They were yelling at _me_ when you walked in. Your name hardly came up expect for when everyone was threatening to kill you on my behalf."

I have no response to this little revelation. Now I just feel incredibly stupid and more than a little like a paranoid lunatic. My silence has obviously made Donna feel marginally braver because she takes a few steps toward me and lays a hand on my arm.

"I told them because I was worried Josh." She says softly. The fury that was previously etched across Donna's face is gone, replaced by a gentle honesty that is almost harder to look at. "You were scaring me."

I pull away from her touch and sigh, rubbing my face with both hands. "You don't have to worry about me."

Donna laughs darkly, disbelief hanging from the sound like drops of ice water. "Yeah?" She says, "Then look me in the eye right now and tell me that everything is fine. Look me in the eye and tell me that I didn't have any reason to be concerned."

"Donna..." I can't do it. I can't and she knows it, which is of course, the reason we're having this discussion. The fact remains that nobody on Earth, not Sam, not Leo, _nobody_ knows me as well as Donnatella Moss.

Donna presses her lips into a thin, anxious line and looks at something above my right shoulder, "You can talk to me you know."

I wince. I was wondering when she would say that. I was wondering when she would ask me, once again, to burden her with my problems. "No, Donna, no. You wouldn't understand."

I can almost feel the distress and frustration radiating from her body, "How do you know?" She demands, "Maybe I would if you'd just..."

Suddenly, I'm yelling again, "What do you want me to say? What the Hell..." I stop, biting off the end of the sentence, "I have no one left." I growl, "everyone who has ever cared about me is gone."

Donna recoils as though she's been slapped. For a minute I'm confused at this reaction until I realize what a very, very stupid thing I've just said. Donna's voice is deadly low, "Excuse me?"

I open my mouth but it is precious seconds before any sound comes out, "I... wait, I didn't..."

Donna begins to back towards the door, anger in her face and hurt in her eyes, "Fine Josh, fine." She says, every syllable tinged with ice. "If you don't think I give a damn I won't. Do whatever the hell you want." She fumbles for the doorknob and flings open the door.

"No Donna, wait...I..." But she's gone and I'm left alone.

What I feel at the moment is absolute loathing towards the person I've become in the last few weeks. I will be lucky if Donna doesn't march back to her desk, get her things and march straight out the front door.

It would be her right to leave. She should get as far away from me as she possibly can.

The problem is I'm terrified that she'll do just that.

Somehow I have to fix this.

Somehow.


	9. Chapter IX

Disclaimer: Second verse, same as the first.

Author's Notes: Holy. Crap. After what seems like four hundred and eighty three years, I have finally finished the ninth chapter of this beast. Computer issues, moving and the Ultimate Writer's Block of Doom all conspired to delay this chapter for obscene amounts of time. For this, you have my sincerest apologies. Anyway, this chapter is not the last no matter how much it may seem like it is. One more to go, though hopefully that one won't take a decade to get written. When you read this part, however, see if you can guess which scene gave me the most issues. I tell you, I almost had the mother of all brain aneurysms writing that scene. But I survived and here it is. I'm sort of proud of this chapter, so I hope you like it too.

This is it. This really is it. I'm not going to have to enlist the help of the other staffers to kill Josh. I'm going to do it myself. With my bare hands if necessary. It will be painful and it will be drawn out and it will be satisfying. It may involve musical accompaniment and a severe bludgeoning with the heel of my pump but I will kill him.

I slam a stack of files onto Josh's desk with so much force the mug that he uses as a pencil holder topples over, sending it's contents rolling around the office floor. Josh has had the extremely good fortune of being tied up in a meeting on the Hill for the better part of the evening. Not seeing him for hours hasn't done much to diminish my murderous impulses, but it has bought him some time.

Perhaps I can still be convinced to let him live.

It will probably take flowers, chocolates, a raise and possibly an all expenses paid trip to Bermuda but it could happen.

I am either extremely tolerant or a spineless doormat, but usually I take all manner of crap from Josh without complaint. Now is not one of those times. Josh can tell me that I have horrible taste in men. He can mock me and point out my self-esteem issues, but he can not, _will not_ imply that I don't care about him.

I care so much it hurts.

I care so much is makes me physically ill to think of anything happening to him.

Why the Hell do you think we're having this problem?

I mean really. Who needs presidential health scandals, shootings, car bombs, and employees who accidentally sleep with call girls when you've got Josh and me? We've got all the drama an administration needs right here. Eighth freaking wonder of the world we are.

I get down on my hands and knees to retrieve the wayward writing utensils all the while inventing some very creative new curse words. I have a goal to get out of the building before Josh gets back. I've finished everything for the day and I want to go home and wash all the bad Josh-induced karma off of me. I am thinking red wine, dark chocolate, push pins and some little Josh-shaped voodoo dolls.

With a sigh, I pull myself into a crouch and rock back on my heels. I quickly discover that this is not a particularly clever thing for someone getting over a smashed up thighbone to do. With a grunt of pain, I fall sideways onto my left hip and drop all the pens I've just spent the last five minutes trying to collect.

I make a noise that sounds like a cat being beaten with a blunt object and for a moment wish fervently that I could just curl up fetally in a corner somewhere until I'm carted off to a nice padded room where Josh will never bother me again.

"Stupid pens," I mutter through clenched teeth, "Stupid leg, Stupid Josh."

Still sitting on the ground in the middle of the office floor, I bury my face in my hands. Who am I trying to kid? I'm just as worried about the stupid bloody idiot as I have been for two weeks. Yes, he is an insensitive, tactless, hasn't-mastered-the-concept-of-thinking-before-he-talks _jackass _but I'm still worried about him.

No, I don't know why either.

I must be too busy trying to figure out the answer to that little conundrum to bother getting up off the ground because at that moment the door to the office opens and Josh walks in. He looks at me, sitting, as I am, on the floor with my legs tucked up to my chest and my head on my knees.

"What the Hell?"

I peer at him out of the corner of one eye, and say nothing out of fear that I'll either burst into tears or throw my shoe at him.

Josh frowns, his forehead creasing in concern. "Donna, what – Are you okay? Did you fall?"

"No." I say, the word coming out more clipped and icy than I really mean it to. "I knocked your mug over," I wave in the general direction of the desk, "and had to pick up the mess."

Josh raises one eyebrow, "And you thought you'd stay down there?"

I glare at him and he flinches visibly. I may be worried about him, but I remain extremely pissed off. The urge to kill things hasn't quite passed. Josh must sense this because he backs up a step and looks uncomfortable. Gathering up the pens and pencils that are within reach, I start to get up. It isn't an easy task as my right leg has decided that it is going to take this moment to cease functioning like a leg and just cause me pain.

Josh immediately drops his backpack and comes towards me, "Here, Donna, let me help..."

"I'm fine." I snap. He flinches away again and I almost start crying out of sheer helplessness. This was never supposed to happen. The day was not supposed to end with me on the floor and Josh afraid to come near me. Somewhere along the line, my plan to help my friend has gone horribly awry and I don't know where to go from here.

With a valiant effort, I drag myself to my feet, teetering unsteadily on one leg. I replace the spilled items and brush off my hands.

"If it hurts you that much," Josh says quietly, "why don't you use your crutches?"

I look at him but don't answer.

Josh sighs and runs a hand through his hair, "Look Don..."

"Josh." I say warningly. I don't want to get into this right now. I don't want to hear his apologies; I don't want to see the guilt in his eyes. Part of me is furious and part of me wants to throw my arms around him and say that everything will all right and I can't deal with that mess of emotions right now.

Unfortunately for me Josh, while undoubtedly brilliant in some ways, is chronically stupid in others and thus, doesn't pick up on my tone of voice. "Donna, please." He says. "Please listen, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make it sound like..."

"No, Josh, no." I say. There is a tremulous edge to my voice, like water threatening to spill over the edge of a glass, "Don't apologize to me right now. Maybe tomorrow I'll be ready to forgive you, but not now."

Josh looks so sincerely distraught that I almost forgive him anyway, "I know, Donna, I..."

"You don't know," I interrupt, "You have no idea. That was _the worst_ possible thing you could have said to me. The worst." Josh ducks his head presses the back of his hand to his mouth, a silent agreement. "I understand that you're in pain Josh." I continue, hating the fact that there are tears needling at the edges of my vision when I'm trying so hard to keep from falling apart. "I do. But that gives you no right to take it out on me."

For the first time that I can remember, Josh seems unable to look me in the eye. "You're right." He says, gaze fixed on some imaginary point of interest at the level of my left knee. "I know that, but..."

"No buts Josh!" I practically wail, hooking my fingers into my hair. "How dare you even imply that I don't care?" Josh's eyes snap to my face and he gives me a wide-eyed stare that makes him look like a rabbit that just leaped into the path of oncoming traffic. I force myself to ignore it because it's long past time that Josh heard this. "These last two weeks have been _hell_ Josh, not just for you. I have no appetite, no energy, I've barely slept..."

That uncharacteristic timidity dissolves from Josh's face, replaced by a very characteristic look of haughty incredulity, "Yeah, and let me point out that _no one _asked you to play vigilante assistant." He snaps.

The urge to cry is gone now, pushed away by utter disbelief that someone so smart could be so Goddamn stupid sometimes. "No one..." I start to repeat, practically gaping at him, "Of course no one asked me to you _idiot_!" I finally manage to spit out, "No one _needed_ to! You're my friend Josh, of course I'm going to try and help you, what the Hell did you expect me to do?"

"I expected you to let me deal with it on my own." Josh growls back at me, "I expected..."

I don't let him finish. Instead, I just explode. "But you weren't dealing with it!" I'm actually yelling, and they can probably here me in Maryland but I don't care. "You were letting this thing eat you alive and damned if I was going to stand by and watch it happen, damned if I was going to let you kill yourself, intentionally or otherwise! If something happened to you I don't know what I'd do!"

"So you thought you'd make it better but leaving me with the knowledge that you could collapse and die from exhaustion at any moment and it'd be because of me?" We're screaming at each other now, our faces inches apart, each of us wearing identical expressions of helpless fury. "Is that what you thought?"

I roll my eyes and turn my back on him, bringing both hands up to massage my temples before spinning back on myself with such force that Josh has to jump back to avoid a collision. "Of course that isn't what I thought!" I say, the volume of my voice surprising even me. "Dammit Josh, I'm trying to _help_ you. If you'd just talk to me..."

"Don't you get it?" Josh roars, "Do you need me to explain in to you? Everyone I love dies. I hurt _everyone_." It's his turn to whirl away from me, though he walks half the length of the room before turning back. The look on his face is so etched with grief and anger and hurt that it's almost frightening in its intensity. "It's like some unspoken law of nature that people close to me will eventually end up dead." He starts to list off the body count, ticking off each person on his fingers, "My mother, my father, Donna, Joanie..."

Wait.

Whatever angry come back I had formed dies on my lips and my arms fall limply to my sides. "Whoa, Josh, whoa. What?"

Josh doesn't seem to know what the problem is. "What?" he says looking nonplussed.

I stare at him, unsure of what, exactly, just happened, "You said my name." I say. My body seems to have ceased functioning. I can't even blink.

Josh's eyes widen a fraction of an inch and he looks alarmed, "No...no I didn't." He says.

I nod slowly, "Yes, you did Josh." I swallow hard and play his words back at him; " You said your mom, dad, _Donna_, Joanie."

Now Josh is staring unblinkingly at _me_. He opens his mouth, shuts it, then tries again, "Yeah, that was... I didn't..."

"Josh." I say, stopping him. My heart is pounding so hard I think it might actually burst out of my chest. It seems ridiculous for me to say what I'm about to say, but I do it anyway. "I'm not... I didn't die."

The look on Josh's face is such an incredible mixture of emotions; I'm not sure how he can possibly be feeling them all without exploding. I can tell that he has absolutely no idea what to do and for a long moment we just look at each other. Finally he picks his backpack off the ground and says, "I have to go."

"No, Josh, wait..." But I'm too slow to stop him.

He's gone.

I lean heavily against the desk, covering my mouth with one hand and hugging myself with the other. "Oh my God." I say. My voice echoes in the empty room.

* * *

I end up doing the only thing I can do. I go home. My apartment seems too small, too cramped and I pace the room like a caged animal. Eventually I have to stop because I have a headache and my leg and lower back are throbbing and I think I may actually be wearing a trench in my carpet.

I sink onto the couch and hug my knees. I keep staring at the phone, thinking I should pick it up, thinking I should call Josh and make sure he got home okay. I'm half out of my mind with worry. Up until tonight I thought we were only dealing with one accident, one death. I thought the only problem was Josh losing his mother. As usual I have underestimated Josh's ability to brood over multiple things at once.

I just had no idea that one of those things was me.

I reach out one hand and almost grab the phone before pulling my arm back in to my body. It isn't enough, talking on the phone. I need to be able to see Josh and I need him to see me. I need him to look at me and talk to me and for once, just once, I need him to tell me everything he feels, everything that hurts and maybe then we can start to make this right again.

Before I've even fully decided to go over to Josh's place and see him, someone knocks on the door. I almost fall off of the couch in my haste to answer it because I instinctively know who it's going to be.

Josh is standing in the hall. His face is the colour of ash, his jaw is clenched and his eyes are haunted. I say nothing, just stand to one side and let him in. He brushes by without really looking at me and walks to the other side of the room. Chewing my lower lip, I close the door behind him.

There are so many things I want to say at that moment but it feels like all those words are tripping over themselves trying to get out of my mouth, tangling in my throat, making speech impossible. So, continuing today's trend, we say nothing.

Josh has his back to me. It takes me a second or two to work up the nerve to approach him. I stop a few feet away, not because I want to but because I've just noticed how his shoulders are shaking. Alarmed, I realize that it's not just his shoulders but his entire body trembling as though someone is running a mild electric current through it. One more sweep of the eyes takes in the way his hands keep clenching and unclenching, digging his nails into his palms then relaxing.

Finally, finally, I manage to unlock my vocal cords long enough to say his name, "Josh?" My voice seems to waver in the air like a discordant note from a violin, ricocheting through the silence.

The muscles in the back of Josh's neck tense and I can see how hard he's trying to keep it together and I can sense that his typical Josh flight instinct has kicked in and I'm about ten seconds away from losing this chance. I know that the only thing keeping him from bolting is the fact that I'm between him and the door and he doesn't want to turn around and let me see his face.

"Josh," I say again, my hands twisting together in a pattern of sheer desperation, "Josh, please talk to me." The sob that has been lying dormant in the back of my throat for the past three weeks finally breaks free and boils to the surface. "Please let me help you."

Slowly, very slowly, Josh turns around. There are tears on his face and I realize that I have never seen him cry before. He looks at me as though he's just realized that I'm there and the bleak, hopeless despair in his eyes makes me feel as though someone is twisting a knife in the center of my chest.

"Donna?" Josh says, his voice half-pleading and half-frightened.

Suddenly, it's as though some invisible restraint holding us shatters and I'm able to move. I clear the space between us in two steps and manage to get my arms around him just as his legs give way and we sink to the ground.

Tears are streaming down my face as I pull him into my arms. Josh finally gives in to the anguish that's been threatening to overwhelm him and buries his face in my shoulder, his entire body shaking with grief. I hold him tighter, fiercely, understanding that this is like drawing poison from a wound. I'd give anything to take his pain away and I rage silently at the world for putting Josh through this, for making this wonderful, vibrant soul, this man that I love, suffer the way he has again and again.

"I'm here Josh," I whisper, putting the full force of what I feel for him behind the words, "I'm here and I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

* * *

By two in the morning, both of us are sitting on my couch, silence once again settling in like a blanket. We're seated side by side, each of us leaning on the other so that is impossible to tell who's supporting whom. I can't remember the last time I felt so deeply exhausted and I can feel my eyelids drooping when Josh speaks.

"Don?" It's the first words either of us have spoken in the last half an hour and the sound makes me jump. Josh pretends not to notice. "I – I'm sorry, I really am."

Now it's his turn to jump as I push myself off of his shoulder and glare at him in disbelief, "Don't apologize Josh!" I exclaim, "Don't you dare apologize for acting like a normal human being in pain. God Josh, the amount of crap you've had to deal within your life, I'm astounded that that you aren't a raving lunatic." I stop and give him a tiny wondering smile. "I can't think of anyone stronger than you. So don't apologize if every so often you need a little help keeping it together."

Silence follows this little speech. Josh stares at me, a smirk pulling at one corner of his mouth, the first thing even remotely resembling a smile that I've seen in days. "Okay." Josh says, raising one eyebrow, "But I was actually apologizing for being such a complete jackass the last little while."

"Oh." I say, feeling mildly embarrassed. "Well. You can apologize for _that_."

Josh smirks at me again and we lapse back into silence. I'd really like nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep for the next five years, but there's one more thing I have to get off my mind first.

Taking a deep breath, I say, "What did you mean back at the office when you were talking about people you'd lost? Why did you say my name?"

Josh sighs and shifts away from me a little as he contemplates his answer. Looking at his hands he says, "Ever since Mom died I've had this feeling, like it was all a dream and any second I could wake up and she'd still be alive." Josh stops and rubs the back of one hand across his eyes. It's a few seconds before he continues, looking at me from the corner of his eye. "With you it was the opposite. Everyone was saying that you were going to all right, that you'd be fine. But for at least a month I had this horrible conviction that one morning I'd wake up and find that you were dead."

I'm a little floored by this revelation and I duck my head thoughtfully, trying to work out the new knowledge. "You never told me." I say, softly.

Josh shrugs this comment away and twists around to face me. "I sent you on that trip Donna." He says with a slight shake of the head. "I sent you because I was afraid that you'd leave if I didn't do something." I tilt my head at him and frown. Josh shrugs again, "And then I almost lost you anyway."

"Josh." I say, putting one hand on top of his, "It wasn't your fault."

Josh gives a tiny smile. "Yeah." He looks at me a moment and I drop my eyes to my hands. Josh leans against the armrest and continues, "Anyway, the point is, I've been having these nightmares. About my mother, about you. I guess it got to me." He flashes me a sardonic half-grin and says; "After all, it doesn't really fit with my pattern of luck to have someone I care about, you know, survive."

I raise one eyebrow and grin, "Yeah well, I've been told that I can be freakishly stubborn when I want to."

Josh just stares at me for a minute and then, without warning, he starts to laugh. Not the hollow, fake chuckle that's been predominant the last couple weeks, but real honest laughter. There are tears in my eyes again but I smile even broader because I know we're going to be all right.


	10. Chapter X

Disclaimer: Despite all my efforts, they continue to not be mine.

Author's Notes: First, allow me to get on my knees and beg forgiveness for taking so long to write this chapter. I had various "life" stuff to deal with, even though I'd much rather have been doing this. Allow me also to beg forgiveness for making you wait six hundred years for a chapter that is so very, very short. I contemplated not putting it in at all, but I thought there were some loose ends that needed tying up. So, enjoy the cheese, and stay tuned for some more important notes at the end of the story.

* * *

When I come into work on Monday morning, Donna is at her desk, tapping a pen against her knee and listening intently to someone on the other end of the phone. For reasons too obvious to mention, I gave her the weekend off, and she looks wonderful. She smiles when she sees me and quickly wraps up her conversation.

"Good morning Donna," I say.

She grins at the unforced cheerfulness in my greeting and inclines her head, "Joshua."

Donna gets to her feet using the desk as leverage, and withdraws her crutches from the space between her desk and file cabinet. I raise one eyebrow, "You using those things again?"

"I am, yes." Donna replies, with a timid bob of her head, "I, uh, went off of them sooner than I should have."

I nod, "I thought so."

We stare at each other for a minute before I head into my office. I hang up my coat and dump my backpack on the floor beside the desk, then head back out into the bullpen. I almost collide with Donna, who had apparently started to follow me. She squeaks in surprise and comes alarmingly close to tripping over her crutches before I catch her elbow to steady her.

"Sorry. I'm a little rusty." Donna says trying to regain her composure, "Um… right, that was Governor Wilde on the phone. He wants to meet you for lunch. I told him that was…."

"Can't." I interrupt.

Donna frowns, "I'm sorry?"

"I can't have lunch with him."

"Oka-a-ay…why?"

I shrug as though this should be perfectly obvious and say "Because I'm having lunch with someone else today."

Arching one eyebrow, Donna looks mildly annoyed, "You're supposed to tell me these things. Now I have to phone and cancel." She shakes her head, and looks up at me, curiosity replacing irritation "Who are you having lunch with?"

"My assistant."

"Your..." Donna pauses and looks thoroughly bemused, "Oh."

I smirk at the flustered expression that's come over her face, "I figured it's the least I can do."

Donna grins, "Got that right buster."

"But, really, if I were to attempt to repay you in lunch dates, I'd be taking you out for the next forty years." I say, returning the grin.

"Only forty, huh?"

"With maybe an all expenses paid trip to Maui thrown in."

"Yes."

"Possibly a new car and a ski lodge in the Alps…"

"Okay Josh," Donna says, waving a hand to stop me. She laughs and I realize that it's been a long time since I heard that sound, "I get the idea."

I smile at her and shake my head, "No you don't." Donna tilts her head to one side, questioning me. "You have no idea. I could do a million things and you'd never understand how grateful I am to have you. So I figured we'd just start with lunch."

Donna gives a tiny nod and smile back at me; "Lunch sounds great." Still smiling, she turns to head back to her desk.

"Hey Don?" I call before she gets too far. She turns and I hesitate a moment until she raises both eyebrows at me expectantly. "You, uh… Back at your apartment, you said you couldn't think of anyone stronger than me."

Donna's face colours slightly and she nods, "I, yeah… yeah, I said that."

I nod and hold her gaze with mine, "I can think of someone."

For a moment, she looks puzzled, then realization dawn and she blinks in surprise. Donna opens her mouth to say something but I shake my head, "Better get moving Gimpy, you're impeding traffic."

Donna laughs, rolls her eyes and turns away from me. I watch her for a minute or two, smiling to myself, before ducking back into my office, closing the door, and getting ready to face the day.

END

Notes Cont'd: I just want to thank each and every person who read and reviewed this, or even read but didn't review. You have no idea how much it means to me, this being my very first "published" - so to speak - piece of fan fiction. All the lovely comments made my day. Special thanks to multiple reviewers – you know who you are.

Oh yeah, and just...uh... _pretend_ that everything that's happened so farthis season either happened after the events of this fic, or didn't happen at all because...well... If you ask me, they should have done it my way.

Ciao!


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